


Comfort

by AoiTsukikage



Category: One Piece
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Manga Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-27
Updated: 2014-11-27
Packaged: 2018-02-27 06:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2682557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoiTsukikage/pseuds/AoiTsukikage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Half of him feels like he just wants to <i>shatter</i>, to fall apart and let somebody catch him just because he’s so <i>tired</i>, and the other half is telling him that he has to stay composed, and stay cold, and act as if nothing’s wrong.  Mild Law/Sanji.  <b>MAJOR SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 769.  </b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> If you bypassed the summary, there are SPOILERS here for chapter 769. Major ones. Don't read if you haven't read the chapter yet...

“Can’t you replace it?”

“It wouldn’t be the same,” Law shakes his head, staring down at the mangled limb.  It might have been easier to absorb had Doflamingo used a clean cut, but he’d deliberately made it as ragged as possible and the pain and shock of it had been debilitating.  He should have been expecting it, but he’d allowed himself an ill-timed moment to gloat and it had cost him, if not his life, at least his livelihood. 

A surgeon with one hand is useless, after all. 

“But if you wanted to…”

“Yes, I could cut somebody else’s arm off and attach it to…” he goes to raise his hand in a helpless gesture before realizing that _it isn’t there_ and stops, settling for a tiny shrug of his shoulders instead.

He’s heard of the phantom limb phenomenon, of course, but he hadn’t realized just how _much_ he’d used his hands in the past, even just to gesture when speaking.  If he doesn’t look it’s easy to imagine that his arm is still there, but he can’t _help_ but look. 

“What about…Franky could make you an arm…”

“No,” Law scoffs. “I have no interest in cybernetics.  I trust only my own flesh, and as it’s my own fault it happened, I’ll bear the consequences.  Besides, the last thing I want is to look like that foolish blowhard Mr. Eustass,” he grimaces at the thought, but more-so at the knowledge that the next time he and Eustass Kid cross paths (because he’s long since learned the universe hates him too much to ever let him get off easy) the other man will likely spend an inordinate amount of time laughing at him for ending up in the same predicament. 

It’s not a meeting he hopes will come soon, in any case. 

“Take mine,” there’s a hand thrust in his face and Law looks up, glaring.  “Look, we can share it or something, but if you need it…”

“Your eternal quest to make people happy is infuriating,” he snarls, and the other man lets his hand drop.  “You’re a cook.  Your hands are necessary for your craft…”

“And so are yours!” the blond man snaps at him.  “You’re so fucking…” he sinks onto the low bed before Law and drops his head into his hands, running them through his shaggy hair.  “I can’t…losing a hand is my worst fear,” he whispers.  “It’s the reason I never use my hands to fight, because I’d rather be useless in battle than be useless in the kitchen,” he laughed bitterly. 

Law doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he takes a shaky breath instead.  Half of him feels like he just wants to _shatter,_ to fall apart and let somebody catch him just because he’s so _tired,_ and the other half is telling him that he has to stay composed, and stay cold, and act as if nothing’s wrong. 

So much is wrong, though.  The last few days have been some of the most painful of his entire life, and he knows that it’s not healthy to hold it inside, except…

Except he’s not comfortable letting it out, so he’ll let it eat away at him instead, a churning acid in his stomach that makes bile rise in his throat and sends little pinpricks of anxiety over the back of his neck. 

He’s spent so long convincing other people he’s a monster that maybe he’s finally starting to believe it himself. 

He’s startled out of his thoughts by a gentle hand on his back, and when he looks to the side he sees that Sanji’s staring straight ahead, his fingers curling against Law’s shirt and grounding him to reality. 

“What do you need?” Sanji asks quietly.  Law opens his mouth to respond, except to his great surprise he finds he doesn’t have a ready answer to the question. 

He needs _so much_ , and at the same time he barely needs anything at all.  What he _is_ sure of, however, is that nobody alive can give it to him. 

Although, at this point, he isn’t too proud to admit that the only reason that’s true is because he won’t let anybody close enough to try. 

Everything’s become a test of his own patience lately, because he refuses to let people see him struggle.  Even things he hadn’t thought twice about before, eating and dressing and bathing himself, take several times longer and require much more effort than they should.  It’s left him drained and feeling useless, and a lesser man would have probably been sobbing from sheer frustration, but he _can’t._

“I…” he chokes out, his voice trembling in the still air.  “I don’t…”

“Bullshit,” Sanji says without preamble, and Law blinks at him.  “Don’t give me that ‘I don’t need anything’ excuse because you fucking _do_ right now.”

Law shakes his head, unable to accept care even when it’s being so freely offered.  Sanji, despite his penchant for helping those in need, isn’t a man who wears his proverbial heart on his sleeve very often.  He’s rough around the edges, yet carefully composed down to the perfect knot of his tie and the scuff-free shine of his shoes.  He’s a walking contradiction, cultured yet crude, able to concoct and recite the most frivolous love poetry and yet, at the drop of a hat, capable of spewing curses that would make even the most hardened pirate blush. 

It’s part of the reason Law’s drawn to him, because Law might not go to those extremes, but he knows the value of a good front, and he knows how it feels to have at least a fairly decent heart and cover it up with indifference and bravado. 

“Fine,” Sanji stands up, lighting up a cigarette with practiced ease and heading for the door.  “Whatever.”

“Don’t,” Law says before he can stop himself, reaching out with his remaining hand and nearly overbalancing as he leans forward.  “Don’t…make me ask,” he continues, because his pride had all but been shattered as he’d lay there screaming on that rooftop, but he has to hold onto whatever vestiges of it still exist for his own sake.  

“ _Finally,”_ Sanji blows out some smoke, toeing his shoes off crossing to the bed.  “C’mere,” he climbs onto the bed, leaning back against the pillows, all lanky limbs and easy grace. 

It makes Law feel even worse, disfigured and uncoordinated, scuttling along like a crippled spider.  Sanji’s face is impassive save for his curled eyebrow, twitching slightly with some hidden emotion Law can’t discern.  He stops beside the younger man, leaning heavily on his left hand. 

“You’re still so fucking hot,” Sanji gives him a half-smile that’s surprisingly free of pity, reaching up to trace his fingers along Law’s jawline and down his neck. 

“You don’t have to lie,” Law snorts, falling rather awkwardly across Sanji’s chest in an attempt to lower his body down. 

“Since when have I ever fucking sugar-coated anything?” Sanji sounds offended at the notion.  “Maybe your body’s not perfect anymore, but if you think that’s the only reason I like you I’m gonna be insulted,” he narrows his eyes and Law, well, he can’t say anything to that. 

He knows he’s attractive… _was_ attractive…but it’s not something he’s considered especially important in the long run.  Other people, though…well, his personality as he chooses to show it is certainly nothing to write home about, so he doesn’t think he can be blamed for believing people might stay with him just for his physical appearance. 

“Here,” Sanji reaches to butt out his cigarette and helps him to lie more comfortably, head nestled between Sanji’s neck and shoulder and his good arm slung across the other man’s hips.  He closes his eyes and just _breathes,_ smelling smoke and spice that never fails to remind him of Cora-san.  He’d be fooling himself if he tried to deny that’s one of the other reasons he feels some connection to the cook, but Sanji’s not Cora-san and he’s not some strange sort of replacement. 

It’s still a comfort, though, and it’s something he needs desperately.  

Sanji’s hands are trailing over his back, light touches that make him feel surprisingly at ease.  He’s half-asleep when the blond speaks again, his voice thoughtful. 

“So I was thinking grilled fish and onigiri for dinner…”

“Do _not_ patronize me,” Law mumbles into Sanji’s shoulder. 

“Fine, then.  Umeboshi and bread it is.”

“Room,” Law says it without thinking, conjuring up the glowing orb easily and swapping out a glass on the bedside table for Kikoku.  He pushes himself to his knees, straddling the cook’s legs, the power of the Room keeping the sword upright and allowing him to unsheathe it with one hand.

It takes longer than before, maybe, but he’s holding it steady, although Sanji laughing at him isn’t what he’d expected. 

He blinks, letting the Room dissipate as the sword casing falls to the floor with a quiet clatter. 

“What…”

“You did it,” Sanji frames his waist with both hands to hold him in place, grinning up at him. 

“I…” Law frowns, setting the sword to lean beside the bed, and realizes that he _had._ He hadn’t thought about it, not really, but he can still _do it_ and that means he isn’t entirely useless. 

“See?  You can still threaten people with one arm,” Sanji reaches to touch the bandages still covering the remainder of his upper arm and shoulder.  Law doesn’t want it, tries to flinch away, because he’d still rather Sanji forget and there was no possible way to imagine him doing that now. 

He lowers himself back down, gently, trying not to be surprised when Sanji takes his hand and laces their fingers together, pulling him up to lie higher against his body.  It’s intimate and it speaks of a relationship that Law’s not prepared for, that he can’t even begin to fathom considering how expendable his body and life have seemed lately. 

“You’re gonna be fine, idiot,” Sanji makes the insult sound endearing, somehow.  “You’ve got a whole bunch of people to help you out.”

He does, Law realizes, even though that’s not something he’s ever thought to wish for. 

It’s still not something he feels he _deserves,_ in any case, but Sanji at least is nearly as damn stubborn as he himself is and he knows arguing is pointless. 

“I know,” he says instead, an answer somewhere between gratitude and outright refusal, and when Sanji tugs him up to kiss him, he goes willingly. 

It’s the same, he realizes with something that feels too close to a sob catching in his throat.  Sanji’s free hand is clutched in the back of his shirt, mouth opening to deepen the kiss, and Law lets himself sink into it. There’s just relief now, confirmation of what he’d probably already known in that these people…this _crew…_ isn’t going to treat him any differently. 

“Hey,” Sanji pulls back, a shit-eating grin on his face that Law’s still a little wary of.  “Your cock still works, right?”

Law tells himself he _should,_ at the very least, come up with a witty retort, but he can’t find it in himself to do more than roll his eyes and nuzzle his head back under Sanji’s chin.  The blond chuckles and squeezes his hand, not letting go, and Law decides he’ll let the comment slide for now. 

The room is near-silent after that, the gentle creaking of the boat on the calm waters the only sound breaking the stillness.  No, he thinks with a heavy sigh, things will never be the same. 

But he’s a person that’s learned to adapt his whole life, that rolls with change and finds ways to adjust to it instead of succumbing to it. 

This might be a greater challenge than most, but he’s sure he can figure it out. 

And this time, he knows that if he falters, he’ll have people beside him to pick him up and set him on the right path again. 

In the end, whether he’ll allow himself to freely admit it or not, that might be the greatest comfort of all.

**Author's Note:**

> This is rather shamelessly self-indulgent and I apologize for that. Some people deal with canon trauma by finding humor in it (the number of hand/arm puns that I’ve seen on tumblr today is getting a little, shall we say, out of hand?) and I tend to deal by writing angsty hurt/comfort fics about it where I can rationalize it through my writing. So yeah, that’s what this is, and hopefully some other people will find it helpful as well, because I know that last chapter was rough…


End file.
